To Alcohol!
by It's-Teatime-Somewhere
Summary: the cause of...and solution to...all life's problems. With a little help from Mary, himself, and a few glasses of wine, Sherlock is able to come to terms with something he never believed in before: love.


_**For Shelby, a snazzy person :)**_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

Mary and John had been friends for as long as Sherlock could remember. Sherlock had never met her, but he had heard more than enough from John. The man never stopped talking about her, whether it was her newest job, how she was doing with her long-term boyfriend, Scotty, or some outrageous childhood memory that Sherlock doubted was true. In fact, Sherlock knew more about Mary Morsten than he would have liked. He knew her favourite colour (blue), her favourite restaurant (Carluccio's, when she always had the Fettucce con Polpette), her favourite artist (Cezanne), and even her route to work every day. The point being, Sherlock wished Mary was not involved in John's life, simply because he would have much less cluttering his mind.

None of John's yammering about her greatness, however, could prepare Sherlock for the sentence he dreaded to hear:

"Sherlock, Mary's coming for dinner tonight."

* * *

Sherlock officially hated Mary. It was because of her that he had to clean house and watch some irritating sauce boil while John ran out for fresh thyme. It was because of her that John made him shower and look presentable on a Saturday night. And it was because of her that Sherlock came to one of the biggest realisations of his life. But that would come later.

"Mary!" John greeted in the hall, "please, come in!"

Sherlock scowled and plucked at his violin.

Footsteps came up the stairs, and Sherlock was greeted with the sight of a grinning John and a flushed young woman. Blonde hair tied up in some sort of bun, Mary was petite and round, but with a smile that looked scarily similar to John's.

"Hi, Sherlock! It's a pleasure to finally meet you. John talks about you all the time." Mary stepped forward and offered her hand. Sherlock thought about ignoring it, but from the glower John was giving him he decided the best course of action was to take the hand.

"And you as well, Ms. Morstan. John here never shuts up about you." He flashes her a smile and she returns it.

"I'd hope so. I'm something special, right John?"

John was red-faced by the time the exchange was over, and he simply grumbled under his breath, taking Mary's coat to the closet.

* * *

Dinner was a pleasant enough affair, although John stuffed him with so much food, Sherlock was scared he would turn into Mycroft. Nevertheless, Mary proved to be an invigorating conversation partner, and Sherlock found himself annoyingly comfortable talking with her and John.

However that might have been the wine talking.

Mary had brought a delicious Merlot, and Sherlock had had four glasses by the time John mentioned dessert. After all, he was never one to turn down Merlot.

"Damn, we don't seem to have any of those biscuits you like, Mary," John said sadly, closing the cupboard. Sherlock knew exactly which ones he was talking about; he had heard about them for days on end.

"Oh, that's no problem, dear. I don't-"

"But I promised you them." John walked towards the door. "You know what, I bet the Sainsbury will still be open at this hour. Let me go grab some, and Sherlock," He gave Sherlock a glare, "Don't be an arse."

Sherlock giggled and took another sip of his wine.

"So, Sherlock..."

Damn. Time for the interrogation.

"How long have you loved him?"

Sherlock nearly spit out his drink. "I-I beg your pardon?"

Mary giggled. "You heard me. I want to know how long you've been strung up on John."

"I'm not, I-We're not together like that."

"Oh, obviously, I would never hear the end of it if that were the case. But there is something going on, isn't there?"

Sherlock felt his head spinning. How did she know? Wait. What? He didn't have feelings for John, right? Of course. What was he saying? Wait-what were they talking about?

"Hmmm?"

"Aw, Sherlock," Mary tutted, "can't hold your alcohol?" She grinned and grabbed his hand, dragging him towards the couch. "So tell me, how long?"

"Since he moved in," Sherlock heard himself saying. No. Be quiet. You're under the influence.

"Well, I can tell you that he's liked you for at least that long. So one of you should deal with it before I asphyxiate because of the smothering sexual tension between you two. Okay?"

"John doesn't like me," Sherlock explained, his voice only slurring a bit.

"Now that's a blatant lie. He's head over heels for you, and if you don't do something soon, he'll be gone."

Sherlock was about to respond when he heard the door open. "Got'em!" John called, walking towards the pair. "Want a biscuit, Sherlock?" He asked, passing the tin his way. Sherlock frowned, in deep thought. Did John really like him? Or was Mary setting him up? His brain was not as quick as when he was sober, and he now remembered why he never drank. He felt like a slug.

"Mary," he whispered, poking her shoulder. She needed to know. He couldn't tell John, but she could. "Mary I need to tell you something." Mary turned to him, and he pulled her ear close.

"I love him, Mary." He giggled. "Don't tell him until I fall asleep." Mary nodded, and then kept talking to John.

Shit. Had John heard them? Sherlock found he was too tired to care. Turned out, three days without sleep (the case was incredibly important) and then wine was not the best partnership. "I think I'll take a short nap, okay?" he drawled, motioning to the pillow by his head. Mary nodded and patted his head as he lay down.

The last thing he saw was a look of shock on John's face, but it did not register to him.

* * *

Sherlock groaned as sunlight blasted in through the windows. "Turn it off, John," he mumbled. He heard a snort from somewhere above him, and felt a hand on his shoulder as John set down a glass on the coffee table. Peeling his eyes open, Sherlock felt the headache pound. He gratefully accepted the glass of water, eyes following John as the shorter man sat down beside him.

"Wish to talk about last night?" John asked, his voice light and conversational.

Sherlock just groaned. He had hazy memories of Mary and John and talking and lots and lots of wine.

"Well I, for one would like to talk about your little cuddle with Mary." John pulled a frown onto his face. "Sherlock, she's my best friend. You could've asked, at the very least."

Sherlock gaped. Mary? Really? John couldn't be that obtuse. He took a second glance. Apparently he could be. How did one deal with this? Sherlock had never had to deal with an unrequited love interest who thought he was in love with said love interest's best friend.

"I don't- Mary isn't-" he stuttered. Apparently his speech impediment carried on into his sobriety.

"I just wish you'd told me first."

"But I don't-"

"No, I'm telling you it's okay. I'll admit, I was surprised. I thought you were asexual."

"You don't understand-"

"I think I get it just fine." John smiled and gave him a nudge. "Actually, it's kinda cute."

"No-" Oh, what was the point. John wouldn't listen to reason. Life as usual. Sherlock huffed and sunk into the couch.

"Do you want her number? I'll set something up for you if you want. She has Tuesdays free now, thanks to the scheduling. I can even-"

"I don't love her!" Sherlock burst out. "I-" No. Stop. He pulled at his hair in frustration. These feelings were beginning to piss him off; they dug into his skin and warped his brain until he could think of nothing but John and John's face and his smile and his smell and no stop what was going on!?

"Woah, Sherlock, it's okay. I didn't mean-I just thought...Sorry." He looked down sheepishly. "I jumped to an assumption."

Sherlock nodded, taking his apology whilst trying to keep his stoic façade.

"So if it's not her, what were you two talking about when I came in?"

"N-nothing." Damn cheeks. No betrayal from you.

John gave him an odd look. "You sure? Nothing you want to say?"

"Nope." He stood up. "I'd better get dressed. I have an experiment at Bart's I'd like to finish." He flounced from the room, closing the door to the bathroom before breathing heavily and rubbing his face angrily.

Stop. Stop thinking. No more.

John doesn't want that. Who would? Sherlock observed himself in the mirror. Lanky, messy, gaunt.

Facts: John likes women. Sherlock likes John. Sherlock is not a woman/attractive.

Solution: Calibrate mind. Stay friends with John. Keep John.

Sherlock smiled and took a deep breath.

Friends. Nothing more.

* * *

For a few weeks, nothing changed. Sherlock learned to avoid his emotions, and John noticed nothing. Mary stopped by numerous times, and continued to pass Sherlock pointed looks before giggling at whatever John had said.

Just friends. Nothing more.

But one day, exactly eighteen days after "the event", John touched Sherlock's wrist as he reached across the table.

Six hours after that, John put his hand on the small of Sherlock's back as he was lead into Angelo's for dinner.

One hour after that, Sherlock was suitably drunk.

"But you don't understand, John. I need it." He reached out of the cab window, trying to reach the coffee shop.

"Sherlock, you're drunk. Shut it until we get home." John giggled at Sherlock's expression, and Sherlock continued to babble as they returned home.

Five minutes later, they walked up the steps.

Fifty-five seconds later, Sherlock came to a decision.

Ten seconds later, he placed his lips upon John's.

Three seconds later, John broke the kiss and rushed to his room.

Sherlock slumped down beside the door in defeat.

* * *

He needed to stop drinking, he thought, standing up. It would become a law. "No more alcohol for Sherlock". His headache made his vision swim, and he sat back down quickly. Not a good idea, then.

After catching his bearings, Sherlock managed to shuffle towards the kitchen and flick on the kettle. He jumped at the footsteps as they approached, kicking himself for not noticing.

Here it was. John would say I'm sorry but this can't go on I can't live here anymore. Sherlock would have to say yes that's fine not like I love you or anything.

"Morning," John murmured, rubbing his eyes. It should also be illegal to look that adorable. Damn.

"Indeed. Tea?" He pointed to the kettle.

"Mm, how about something stronger?" He moved towards the coffee maker. "Then we can talk."

Sherlock's blood ran cold. Nodding, he turned to his tea, meticulously brewing it to perfection.

They sat kitty corner from each other, holding their drinks awkwardly.

"More explanations?" John said calmly.

Sherlock looked down.

Twenty seconds of silence.

"May I deduce?"

Sherlock nodded.

Ten seconds of silence.

Then, John stood up and moved towards Sherlock. lifting his chin with a calloused finger, John bent down and put his chapped lips upon Sherlock's.

Sherlock let it go on for five seconds before jumping backwards. "What was that?" he shrieked.

John smirked. "It was me returning the sentiment. I understand, now. When you were talking with Mary, it wasn't her you were in love with, it was me."

Sherlock's breath came out in tight puffs. This couldn't be happening.

John's hand steadied him. "And I feel the same way." He gave a little smile and Sherlock glared at him. Was John mocking him?

"No, I'm not." John smiled. "I care for you, Sherlock Holmes, and would very much like to kiss you now."

Sherlock smiled. Yes, that was perfectly acceptable.

* * *

Mary was smirking the next time Sherlock saw her.

"I hope the wait was worth it, Mr. Holmes," she said teasingly, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Treat him well."

Sherlock nodded. John was a wonder, and Sherlock would treat him as such.


End file.
